


Pontificia Commissione per la Tutela dei Minori

by Anneofnyc



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Depression, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneofnyc/pseuds/Anneofnyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors was instituted by the Pope for the safeguarding of minors. It was instituted in 2014. </p><p>Matt was raised in a Catholic orphanage in the 90s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pontificia Commissione per la Tutela dei Minori

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags please. May be extremely triggery for some. Does not show the Catholic church in a very good light, so if that's not your cup of tea, please do not read.

“Matthew, are you having some trouble at school?”

“No, father.”

“Has someone been troubling you? Some of the other boys?”

“No, father.”

The 50 year old parishioner leaned back against his chair.  
“Have you been praying? Reading your bible every day, talking to God?”

Matt hesitated here a bit, reading the Bible had become such a habit that his perfunctory readings these past few weeks probably didn’t count. He was sure the priest wouldn’t like hearing that.

“I have, father.”

“Sister Delina gave me a call because she was concerned. You missed two tests.”

Matt bit his lip. He’d feigned a headache to cop out of school two days in a row. Missing two tests because of it. He didn’t know how to explain his tiredness without it sounding like he was being lazy.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t- I’ll make it up. I promise.”

“See that you do. It wouldn't do for a bright young man like you to fall behind.”

“Yes, father.”

“Is there anything, _anything_ you would like to tell me Matthew? Sister Mary and Sister Aurelia have been concerned. They told me that they approached you about those concerns after classes but you told them it was nothing.”

“It _was_ nothing. I’m blind, I fall. That’s it.”

“Hmmm. You’re very mature for your age. God has obviously blessed you with intelligence and with empathy. You are self-reliant and bold. But you are still a child and you are under our care. I hope you trust us to act in your best interests, Matthew. Our social minister is a qualified psychologist, maybe you would feel free to talk to him?

“Maybe.”

“Well, my door is always open, you know that.”

“I know. Thank you father.”

Matt left the office and walked straight to his dorm. Opened his book and sat holding it as suppertime got over, his dorm mates came and everyone went to bed. When the dorms went quiet and the night grew still, Matt’s hand started shaking. He kept the book back and lied down on his bed.  
He hadn’t eaten and it was making him lazy and tired. He just had to try harder tomorrow.

**_Mind controls the body._ **

 

* * *

 

 

Brother Taylor Hayden used to be a scientist. A microbiologist. He was once in Nigeria, in a team that was researching a vaccine. He’d found God there. In the abject poverty and sickness, he saw people at their most spiritual selves. In small brick house with a battered tin roof, heat pouring in like Elijah’s prayers answered. Setting souls on fire and slaughtering every bit of cynicism and bitterness. The souls thrived in conditions that bodies couldn’t withstand. It was a revelation.

In St. Agnes his main duties were teaching biology and taking care of the boy’s dormitory. He found peace in the Spartan walls. He saw neatly made up beds, well fed children with simple but clean clothes on and he felt himself humbled by God’s providence. The discipline sanctified him. The order and serenity were no less holy than catechisms and chants.

Matthew Murdock was usually the epitome of a good catholic boy. Quiet, obedient and surprisingly efficient with normal chores. He had been worried, when the mysterious teacher had taken him up for ‘training’. But he’d seen Matthew grow confident and physically strong. He’d stopped having his hysterical spells.

However, now he was on a backward slide. Withdrawing in his own shell. Angry and resentful. He’d taken to wasting food, and that angered him when he thought of the poor and orphan children of Nigeria. He’d started to notice that he often looked untidy and may be even skipping showering on some days.

It was disheartening. He tried to help. Coaxing him to eat. Sitting with him and praying after evening prayers were long over. Sometimes an hour or two would pass on their knees. But he was willing to endure it if it meant helping the poor boy. But he grew increasingly less receptive to sitting with him in prayer and contemplation. Anger and hostility shone in his sightless eyes. The spirit of obedience seemed to flee as Matthew’s heart hardened with malice and defiance.

One morning, brother Hayden had had enough of Matthew’s rebellious attitude as he didn’t turn up for breakfast. He gave him time, opportunity and waited till the last of children had their breakfasts before he made up his mind to take matters into his own hand. He arranged a small tray of breakfast.

Then he marched into the room that Matt occupied and found the room empty except for the dark haired boy still in bed. Sleeping late without permission. Matthew needed to humble himself and submit himself to God.

 

Matt woke up, startled and disoriented as a heavy ceramic plate was slammed down on the small study desk beside his bed. He rubbed sleep encrusted eyes, trying to recognise the person standing at his bed.

“Get up.”

Brother Hayden. He sounded angry and his body was radiating a jittery energy, heart rate quick and loud in the empty dorm. This did not bode well. He tempered down a flash of annoyance and decided to play it easy. No use antagonising him. He never raised his voice but always had an air of meanness that couldn’t be hidden with words of scripture or prayer. He shifted to get up and froze. He was cold and wet. And how could he have missed the smell.

_Oh god no._

This had happened a few times when he was new to the orphanage. Hurting and numb in a way that no one understood.

Brother Aaron used to take care of him then. It had been awkward and mortifying, but none of it was due to the kind religious. He was a short frail man and had few words to say. He always helped him clean up, and then he’d take the soiled sheets to wash without a word. He hadn’t told anyone about it. Matt had started to find a footing, an anchor in him. And beyond the first couple months, he’d slept without any such accidents. Well, except when he’d keep everyone awake because he’d be thrashing, assaulted by noises and voices piercing his head. But he had felt like he had encountered an angel. He’d taken to scripture lessons and prayer like never before.

And now just a couple of weeks after Stick’s departure, he’d done it again. And it just had to be the time that Hayden was around. Matt’s nose flared as he reigned in a moment of pure panic. Feeling disgusted and betrayed by his body, he kept his covers tight to his chest as he sat up.

“Brother-” he started.

The plate was pushed into his chest, the soup sloshing out of the bowl soaking the toast.

“You are going to eat today. I’m not leaving till you do. Don’t think you can get away with wasting food you ungrateful creature.”

His legs squelched in the cool wet mess inside as he shifts to sit stably. He closed his eyes in relief that he was delivered the plate right in the bed. He wouldn’t have to get up and Hayden wouldn’t have to know.

He eats the first toast easily. Next, the half of a boiled egg sticks to his throat and coats his mouth. He sips at the soup to wash it down but halfway through, his stomach already starts to feel full. He pauses, his lips still touching the ceramic. The smell of ammonia was making him queasy. His butt and thighs were feeling clammy and dank.

“Finish it Matthew.”

He leaves the soup and tries the remaining toasts. Hayden had loaded his plate with almost twice the usual portions. He’d been having a toast and half a cup of soup at most for the past few days. This was already way more than that. His throat kept convulsively closing off. He could feel a gag coming on. He bit off and chewed. And chewed. His belly was starting to feel sore. Distended and restricting his lungs a bit. He finished the eggs next. He was sure he was going to vomit soon. He was trying his best to keep his breathing steady and shallow. His back was starting to cramp because of his hunched posture. He couldn’t finish the soup. He couldn’t.

“You’re not gonna finish that? You’re gonna sit here and waste it, you insolent spoiled brat?”

The plate was shaking in his hand. The cold soup starting to congeal and smell salty.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying but I can’t. I’ll be sick. I’m sorry.”

He startled himself by how small and timid he sounded. Stick was right to have left. He was no warrior. He was just a small scared boy. He was stupid to ever think he was anything more.

“I told you I’m not leaving until you eat. Get up, you’re gonna sit at your desk and eat. Get out now.” Hayden’s voice was still low and calm, the tone was anything but. Matt flinched as the plate was tugged away from his hand.

His pulse was deafening to his own ears. He’d have to get out of the bed now and Hayden would see. He would know. And he had sat there eating in soiled sheets in front of him. Atleast before, there would have been some chance of getting sympathy or pity. But he had deceived him, hidden his shame. It was going to be so much worse now. So much worse.

He squirmed, flushing with shame.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

That almost sounded like concern. But Matt didn’t dare lie now. He shook his head. Tears suddenly springing his eyes.

“Okay, that’s it. Get up!”

He tried to push himself back to the wall as Hayden lunged at him. Hands clamped on to his upper arm and pulled. For one proud stubborn moment he resisted before he felt like his arms were going to be ripped out of his shoulders. He grunted but gave in.

The hand pulls him with such force that even though he lands on his feet, he stumbles forward one step. Cold dry air hits his back and legs. He can feel the wet edges of his pyjamas touching his toes. The cloth sticking to his skin, the smell now unmistakeable and unbearably pungent.

“You wet yourself boy? And you were lying there in your own filth?”

The voice was heavy with repulsion. Matt stood, shifting side to side as shame crawled up his neck. Tears falling down his hot cheeks. He wanted to sink to the floor. Just stop existing. Die.

“You don’t even care do you? You don’t eat. You don’t take showers. You neglect your school work. You have an air of entitlement. You are used to people catering to your every whim. Because you are blind and people pity you. And your disobedience is pitiful.”

Matt’s got his thighs pressed together, stomach rolling. He wanted to apologise so that he would leave him alone. So that he would clean himself and stop stinking. But each word was hitting his ego, cracking it and breaking him from the inside. He had never known shame like this before. He’d only known pride. Pride took away his father. And now his own comeuppance had come.

“Well it’s not going to be tolerated here. You are going to behave. You are going to clean up your mess and do your duties. And you’re going to start right now!”

He was still so eerily calm, despite the hateful words. Matt wasn’t sure what was making him shiver anymore. Atleast he’d stopped crying. He dried his face, trying to maintain dignity in the face of impossibility.

The hand was back and this time with bruising force as he’s dragged from his room. He stumbled at the sudden fast pace set by Hayden. Hitting the door jamb as he’s dragged into the communal bathroom. Contrary to what he expected, he’s not thrown under the shower and have it done with.

Hayden grabs his collar and Matt just  _panics_. He throws out an elbow and is promptly bodily pushed to the wall and trapped there. He is no match for the sheer mass of the man. He tries to struggle but Hayden manages to strip him down. Tearing seams and popping buttons.

Matt tries to turn sideways as his pants come off, trying to hide himself. Suddenly terrified and breathless. He’d heard about boys being abused, raped, beaten. And he had encountered none of it since he had been there. But maybe he missed. Wrapped up in his own pain, maybe he missed. Or _maybe_ it was him. His fault. His mother left. Stick left.

His dad died. So maybe it was him. He brought out the worst in people. It was his fault wasn’t it.

His brain short circuits after that. For a while he’s not in that bathroom. He’s not the small frightened boy, naked and pitiful. There’s a ringing in his ears. He thinks it’s for the best. He wouldn’t feel anything. Vision, fortunately was already taken care of. And now his other senses were going to help him escape.

 

He’s jerked out of his trance as sharp needles rain down on him. Stinging with force and sharpness. The ringing in his ears is replaced with a gushing roar. He yelps, realizing he’s been pulled under the shower. The horrifying thing he was expecting didn’t happen. But he didn’t have the time or luxury to feel the relief. Icy water was pelting him at full force and he had to get away.

He tries and finds his hands still trapped. He yells in helplessness as he can’t find enough strength to break out of Hayden’s grip. He twists his hands, not mindful of the skin and muscles getting wrenched. He twists his whole body away and finds only the wall behind him and nowhere to go.

He whimpers, pressing his body against the wall. Trying to get away from the freezing water, trying to get away from the immovable body of spite. He turns sideways to hide himself in a futile gesture and finds himself pushed down to the floor.

He finds the previous terror returning as he is on the floor, Hayden looming over him. He folds his hands in front of his chest and draws his feet in. He was an idiot to think he’d escaped that particular fate. Why else would someone strip and push someone down? How could he expect this not to happen?

“Stop squirming you impertinent child! I’m not leaving- till you- clean up. You filthy animal.” Hayden was prying his hands away, heaving for breath as he finds it a little harder than he expected to manhandle the skinny looking boy.

Matt cries desperately, slowly coming to the realisation that there was nothing he could do. It was futile to keep fighting.

“Please… please. Please don’t! I’m sorry, please… I’m sorry!”

The hands are now rubbing a soap over his neck and shoulders roughly. The cold water still raining down like fire on his skin.

_“Please… please.”_

He didn’t care what Hayden was doing. He just wanted it to stop. Shame and rage gone in a second, only pure misery left in its place. So he begged, his voice soft and weak, he begged.

The hands jostle him, position him for convenience of reach as dispassionate hands rub the hard soap in his skin. His body goes slack. He stops his ineffectual pleas.

The hands finish with his torso and then soap his penis, the scanty downy pubic hair, his balls. They don’t linger, they don’t become gentler. Then his thighs and continues downwards.

He is turned over and his back is scrubbed. His cheek is pressed to the wet floor, water rebounding from the grimy floor and hitting his face, his nose, his mouth. His lungs feel compressed and jerky. Even with his mouth open, he is not getting enough air.

His butt, the back of his thighs and feet are scrubbed clean. He can’t feel his toes, for a given value of feeling because his entire body feels deadened. His brain feels fuzzy and he starts to feel like he’s going to fall even though he’s already on the floor. He feels a pull on all of his limbs and for a blessed fleeting moment he knows he’s going to lose consciousness.

But right at that second, a hand yanks him up with a searing pain at his shoulder. Suddenly he is on his feet and the hand lets go. The world tilts and he finds himself clinging to the wall, forehead pressing painfully into the tiles.

He vomits.

His back spasms and his insides rebel with a strength he didn’t know he had left. Searing liquid pours out of his nose, his sinuses on fire. The water washes away the vomit instantly. Swirling away in the drain.

He is finally clean.

“You’re a disgrace… but I’ll still be waiting for you at lunch. Be there.”

The voice is, at last, raised and loud. A little shaken even. The shower is turned off. A towel is flung at his direction but he can’t move. It drapes on his head and back.

Matt is immobile as long as he hears the footsteps leaving. Once it fades away, he pulls the towel to his chest and bursts into tears. Every inch of him was scoured. And yet he’d never felt as unclean as he feels then. Battered and helpless and violated.

He sobs into the towel, snot and vomit and tears mingled with humiliation and anguish. He doesn’t really grasp the reason, it was just a shower after all.

 

 

Matt stood there for minutes, hours, he couldn’t tell. Just shaking and not processing. Tears long gone and dried up. The towel was clutched in his hands but most of it was on the floor and soaking up the water. He shivered, almost a flinch as he became aware of his nudity again. A wave of shame came crashing over him. He felt small and pitiful in a way that his blindness had never made him feel. Even getting beaten by Stick elicited rage and determination with only a smidge of self-consciousness.

Never this. This was something else.

He wanted to shrivel up and disappear. It would be nice, he thought still shivering and wet, to sublimate into vapour. Why did God let him live this half life? It would have been heroic to have died saving the old man. He’d be remembered by people. He’d be in heaven. Happy, untainted and whole.

But here he was. Alone. Exposed. Expected to follow the path of the Light when he was left to stumble around in utter darkness. Hollow and yet so heavy. Noxious to everybody and everything around him. It would have been better if he had died in that accident.Then he remembered the tacky feel of cold congealed blood on his hands.

_God, sorry. Sorry._

He gulped down the lump in his throat. There was no need to cry. Pathetic as he was, he could still control his body to some extent. He was not going to cry. Not anymore.

He reached back and touched the freezing bathroom wall behind him with its cracked and grimy tiles, and slowly lowered himself down to the floor. His muscles seem to give up all at once as his limbs settled down on the floor. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. But he wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

 

He heard the footsteps but didn’t register its significance for a long time.

“Murdock?”

He breathed out slowly. The older teen gave a huff, frozen where he stood.

“Jesus kid…” the footsteps were rapid and approaching him. A warm calloused hand came in contact with his forehead. It was Joel. His breath hitched.

“What the fuckin… what are you doing here freezing your ass?”

Bony fingers were brushing back his wet bangs plastered to his forehead, leaving his eyes clear. Idiot. The guy usually stayed out of everyone’s way. He wasn’t the brightest or the most popular among all the children of St. Agnes. Matt’s breath hitched again, speeding up for a second.

“Fuck… okay fuck. You’re not talking. That’s just great. Fuckin Hayden.” He muttered, wrapping the mostly wet towel around him. He leaned in as he pulled the towel behind to cover his back.

He reeked of something sharp and fiery. Whiskey.

“Come on, get up. There you go.” The hands were pulling him up and encircling him. Calloused, yet tender in its warmth. _Daddy._ Dad was trying to pick him up. Who else would want to help him.  
  
He lifted one nearly numb arm to help his father carry him. He wanted to get out as fast as possible of the bathroom, out of the cold. He wanted his dad. He wanted his old bed and the quiet that only came from love.

“Good. Yeah that’s good.” A hiss as his arm touches dad’s neck. “Fuck you’re cold. Shit. Shit. Come on.”

He was moving his legs. Probably. It felt like he was moving them. But most of his weight was probably on his… father? Wait, no, how was dad here?

“Dad?”

“Wha-?” the voice bit out, breathless with effort. Too soft. Too young. Ofcourse. Ofcourse.

“Nothing.”

Some long hidden wounded part of him ached. A presence so big and all consuming, he wondered how his skinny body could ever contain it. He thought about the biggest and worst bruise Stick had given him. How tender the skin over it felt. How he could feel the unhealthy heat radiating from it. The insensible sustained pain that would make him control his every breath. And the unexpected burning roaring sting that would draw involuntary tears.

And he thought it couldn’t compare. His body could never hurt as much as his heart did. It was impossible.

 

The side of his knee hit the wooden cot and he folded on to the mattress. He kept himself half upright with one elbow as Joel pushed him down. The scratchy but thick blanket was drawn over him. His numb tingling skin welcomed the texture as the cold air was no longer in contact with it. This wasn’t his bed but it didn’t matter.The towel was pulled out from under the blanket and thrown haphazardly across the room.

“Hey kid.”

Pyjama pants and top landed on his face and he nearly jumped in shock.

“Get into those. And then I’m outta here.”

Matt dragged the pants inside the covers quickly, trying to put them on.

“Wait Joel…I’m uh. Thanks.” He rasped out.

Joel stopped walking out.

“Thanks? It was your own fault anyway.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The footsteps came right up to his bed.

“See that sorry stuff? Don’t mean shit alright.”

Matt jerked back a bit. The sudden vehemence a surprise.

“I didn’t even- I didn’t actually do anything wrong. And you- you h-have no idea-” he stammered.

“Yeah you’re blind and you’ve got a sob story.” His voice went low, “Look these people are nice okay, they’re good. But no one’s that nice. No one. You watch your own back cause no one’s gonna do it for you. Grow the fuck up.”

Matt clenches his fist and nods.

“Right. I should get drunk and fail all my classes. Like you.”

A husky laugh.

“Just don’t tell anyone man. Or do, whatever. Just pretend you’re fine alright? Eat. Sleep. No one’s gonna look close enough to know. Will keep Hayden off your ass.”

Matt tucked his knees in closer, shoving his arms between them tightly. Trapping them. Fists cold and hard against his thighs.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

 

Matt kept his word exceedingly well.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just watched the news about 70 Pakistani students being lined up and shot in the head. It was very upsetting. So I went ahead and wrote something that would upset me more. I'm Eeyore ugh.
> 
> Anyway, I do not have anything against Catholics as such. I respect religious freedom AND tolerance. However, it is a fact that for decades children in such institutions ALL over the world suffered neglect, abuse, rape in silence and secrecy. It would be naive to think it has all stopped. Decreased a little maybe as more people are speaking up, the church is being held accountable and simultaneously Catholic orphanages are decreasing in number (along with number of nuns, brothers and priests).The US foster system is not doing a whole lot better tbh going by the reports and numbers.
> 
> Being a kid sucks. As adults let's not forget that... that's my point I guess.
> 
>  
> 
> (btw, my grammar is not that great. if there are mistakes please tell me so I can correct them)


End file.
